Trusting the Magic (Shifting Magic, Book Three)

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An Excerpt From: TRUSTING THE MAGIC

Copyright © CAIT MILLER, 2011

All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.

Chapter One

Eighteen months earlier

A quick glimpse out of the plane window showed the ground was alarmingly close, even hidden as it was in early-morning mist. Nick closed his eyes, fingers tightening on the arms of the seat as he waited for the inevitable moment of contact. He felt sweat beading on his upper lip and couldn’t bring himself to let go for long enough to wipe it away. He curled his toes inside his worn sneakers and tried to concentrate on counting and breathing deeply, but his anxiety was getting the better of the relaxation techniques he’d been taught.

At last he heard the screech of the wheels touching the tarmac and felt the jolt as the weight of the plane settled onto them fully. He couldn’t help tensing further as he felt the pilot fully engage the brakes and put the flaps down. For a moment it seemed that the plane wouldn’t slow down and he tried not to think about them skidding off the end of the runway. He tried not to picture them exploding into flames.

Really.

Finally, before his imagination could bring on a full-scale panic attack—and wouldn’t that be embarrassing?—the plane slowed to a very sedate crawl and the stewardess’s voice came over the intercom, thanking them for using their airline and reeling off the time and weather in Glasgow. Nick only heard about half of it. His head fell back against the seat and he let out a shuddering breath of relief. He ran a hand through his black hair, probably leaving it standing in messy spikes, but at this point he didn’t care.

He opened his eyes and looked around warily to see if any of his fellow business-class passengers had noticed the six-foot, three-inch nervous wreck sitting amongst them. Thankfully, they were all engaged in gathering their belongings, totally oblivious to the fact that they had come within inches of death. In Nick’s mind, anyway.

He grinned wryly and wiped the sweat off his face discreetly, rolling his neck to rid it of the stiffness his tension had caused. He sat where he was, seat belt firmly in place, while the other passengers ignored the instructions of the crew. He never understood why people in planes were so desperate to get up and grab their stuff from the overhead bins so quickly. They would only end up standing in the aisles until the people in front of them got off, it didn’t make it happen any quicker. Plus they asked you to keep your seat belts on for a reason and he was all for following any safety instruction he was given on a plane. That made him smile again. Admittedly, it might be the only place he followed instructions.

The adrenaline rush from the landing wore off, tiredness from the overnight flight once again tugged at his senses. He never could relax enough on a plane to be able to sleep. Too tense, too cramped, too noisy…just too much. Nick envied those who shut their eyes and woke at their destination refreshed and ready to go. He settled in to wait as the plane taxied towards the gate.

The cool morning air of the Scottish summertime rushed through the half-open window of the rental car and helped to blow most of Nick’s cobwebs away. The rolling green hills around him helped to dispel the lingering annoyance that he had to drive in the first place. His friend Cameron Murray, who was Nick’s whole reason for taking this trip, had failed to pick him up. Instead, Nick had been paged at the airport and given a message that he would have to make his own way to Murray House, since it wasn’t Cameron’s idea that he visit in the first place. The girl on the courtesy phone had even apologized and explained that Mr. Cameron had asked her to write it down exactly.

Nick sighed. What had he expected? If it had been that easy to get Cam out of his lair, Nick wouldn’t have had to come here. He was worried about Cameron, who was becoming more and more of a recluse, believing he could hide from their heritage by shutting himself away in his remote mansion like some fairy-tale monster. Nick wondered if his own brother would end up like Cam in a few years.

Personally, Nick embraced his true nature. After all, who wouldn’t love the benefits? Increased healing, senses and speed—what wasn’t to like? And when the time came to find his mate, if he was lucky enough, he could have a bond like no other with her and he could gift her with the same abilities he would have. But no, his brother Jack was too much of a control freak to give in to his animal nature and Cameron…well, Cameron had his own reasons. Nick wasn’t going to allow him to just throw away his life though, so here he was. Delivering software from his father’s company was enough of a reason to come and check on his friend.

He focused his attention back on the winding country road. He was almost there and it was a good thing—jet lag was beginning to catch up with him. He squinted against the bright morning light. He slipped on his sunglasses and rolled the window down farther. Nick reached to turn up the radio and changed his mind as he saw a sign announcing that there was a vehicle inspection point ahead. Sure enough, he rounded another bend and saw the yellow high-visibility jacket of a British police officer up ahead.

The man waved him into a large parking place at the side of the road where several more police officers clustered around a small white trailer and a van. Nick groaned at the delay and rolled his window down as one of the officers approached. He was also wearing the luminous yellow jacket with a police patch in blue and gray on the back and a smaller one over his heart. His radio was clipped to the jacket and Nick glimpsed his black uniform through his open collar. He had his hat in his hand but pulled it into place as he walked over.

“Beautiful morning, isn’t it?” Nick said.

The man bent to the open window and assessed Nick with cold eyes, lips tightening beneath his mustache. He smelled of onions over some god-awful aftershave and Nick resisted the urge to wrinkle his nose.

“License and registration please, sir,” the officer replied.

The Scottish accent was clipped and impatient. Okaaay, no small talk. Nick refrained from rolling his eyes, unclipped his seat belt and bent over to reach into the glove compartment for the rental papers.

“I have them in here somewhere. It’s a rental.”

He was searching for them among the pile of maps he had picked up at the airport when he felt a sharp sting in his side followed by a spreading cold.

“What the fuck!”

He sat up and reached for his side in time to see the cop stand back up, syringe in his hand. Instinctively, Nick reached for the keys to start the car only to find the ignition empty. He looked back at his assailant to find the man grinning back nastily, the keys to the car dangling from his fingers.

“I’m afraid I’m going to have to detain you, sir.”

“What the hell’s going on? Who are you?” Nick slurred.

The drug swept over him, slowing his thoughts and making him dizzy. Belatedly, he flung open the door and scrambled out of the car. The man merely stepped out of the way and watched him smugly. Nick started to run, only to find his limbs weighed a ton. Within a few steps he stumbled to his hands and knees. He heard the heavy-booted footsteps of the policeman as he fell to his face, barely noticing the sting of the gravel as it scraped his skin. His whole body felt numb. Cameron. His friend would blame himself for this. The last thing Nick saw was the cold eyes of his captor as his senses dimmed. The man chuckled as he bent close to his face.

“Nighty night…sir.”

Consciousness crept back with the smell of bleach and the soft whir of air-conditioning. Am I in a hospital? How long have I been out for? He felt like it had been five minutes but he knew it must be longer, since they’d had time to move him somewhere. Instinctively, Nick kept his eyes closed and his body relaxed as he waited for his brain to catch up. Anger built as he remembered the drug he had been given and the phony police officer. At least, he hoped the guy was a fake—that, or the Scottish police force was seriously fucked up.

Wherever he was, it was warm and he wasn’t on the ground anymore. The surface he lay on was too soft. Except for the quiet noise of the fan, it was silent and he’d never been in a quiet hospital. He seemed to be alone. He moved his wrists slightly and was surprised to find he wasn’t restrained. What the hell?

Slowly Nick opened his eyes and blinked against the sting of the glare from the white ceiling and walls. The room gradually came into focus and he looked around cautiously. He lay on a cot that was about six inches too short for him, leaving his bare feet dangling over the end. The room was about fifteen-feet square and had one wall of thick, floor-to-ceiling glass with a heavy steel door on one side. Beyond the glass was a hallway and on the wall, a surveillance camera watched him. Opposite the cot was a metal table and chair, bolted to the beige, vinyl-covered floor. And at the back wall was a metal toilet and wash basin. It appeared that privacy was not a consideration here.

Lifting the olive-green blanket that covered him, he found he was naked but for his stretchy black boxer shorts. He sat up slowly and swung his legs to the floor, wincing at the ache in his ribs and back. There were lurid purple bruises on both sides of his abdomen and he wondered fleetingly if he’d be peeing blood later. Apparently someone had introduced him to their boot while he was unconscious. He was glad he hadn’t been awake to enjoy it. He had grazes on his palms and his face from when he had fallen trying to escape but his hands had been cleaned and he assumed his face also. So they must want him relatively healthy. Nick walked to the window and glared at the camera.

“Hey, assholes! Wanna tell me what I’m doing here?” The unblinking red eye stared back.

“If this is about money, you’ve got the wrong guy!” Not strictly true. Nick had money. As did his parents, since they owned a successful software company, but his captors were welcome to argue with him. He shook his head in disgust at the lack of response and started to walk back to the cot when an intercom hissed to life.

“Welcome, Nick.” The voice sounded like something he had heard on BBC Scotland. Cultured and friendly, amused. “You are most assuredly the right man. I’m afraid I don’t need your money, though in a roundabout way you may provide me with more of my own in the end.”

Nick paced back to the window with short, angry steps.

“Who are you and what do you want from me?” he said through gritted teeth.

“All will be explained in time. You and I will be spending quite a lot of time together. In the meantime why don’t you make yourself comfortable in your new quarters? You will find clothing at the foot of the bed.”

Nick pounded on the glass with his fist as the intercom fell silent. He paced with impotent fury as his eyes traveled over the spartan room, looking for something to help him escape. There was nothing. They had been very careful when designing their prison. Facilities like this needed funding, something they apparently had. Who were they? At the moment, all he could do was keep his eyes and ears open and wait. His brother and Cameron would be looking for him; it was only a matter of time until the cavalry arrived.

Four days later Nick had discovered it was true that time was relative. At least he thought it was four days, judging by how often they had turned out the lights. Four days without any kind of human contact except for the person who brought his meals. There had been five different men so far, all dressed in white lab coats, and none of them had so much as made eye contact while sliding the plastic tray through the slot in the door. None of them reacted when he spoke.

He felt like he was invisible and it was making him crazy. At first he had refused to eat or drink anything but it hadn’t seemed to bother them. He had thought about keeping the trays but what would it gain him? Everything on them was paper or plastic and the cell was bad enough without adding the stink of rotting food to the smell of his own body. He had done his best to clean up in the small sink but there was only so much he could do with water and the shirt from the blue hospital scrubs. On day three, he had decided to risk the food. He hadn’t been able to smell any drugs tainting it and, twenty-four hours later, there had been no ill effects.

He paced the floor restlessly. Nick already knew every screw, every crack in the tiles intimately. He thought about doing some more exercise but decided to save that excitement for later.

Nick was a sociable guy and rarely a day went by when he didn’t spend time with someone. This enforced solitude was more effective than perhaps his captors realized. He glared at the fixed red eye of the camera and barely resisted the urge to punch the thick glass. Were they trying to bore him to death? Fate could be a bitch sometimes and he should have known better than to taunt her.

No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than Nick became aware of a hissing sound. He looked towards the source—the ceiling vent—and stepped into the corner, as far as he could get from it. It was a futile effort, he knew, but he couldn’t just stand there and do nothing. Within moments, his sensitive nose picked up the metallic scent of the gas. Fear was bitter in his mouth and he hated himself for it. He felt the effect of the gas in the heaviness of his limbs and his heart sped up as the room began a slow revolution. He wondered where—or if—he would wake up this time.

Professor Robert Westford watched as his latest subject slid to the floor, finally succumbing to the sedation. He did like it when they fought. He supposed that might make him a little twisted but one found one’s pleasures where one could, and the look of fear and helpless anger on his subjects’ faces was one of his guilty pleasures. A few moments passed while the fans cleared the cell of gas and two of his assistants went in to retrieve the sleeping creature. The professor turned from the monitor and slipped on a fresh white coat. He would take this one slowly. He had many new theories to test out as well as the usual data to collect. Perhaps this would be the one.